Ballet Shoes
by through-the-eye-of-a-needle
Summary: The four times Elizabeth doesn't kiss Miles...and the one time she does. Loosely set in my 'Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On' verse.
1. Chapter 1

**I**

When she arrives with her trunk and her straw hat pressed down on her blonde curls to shield her from the sun that burns gloriously in a cerulean sky, he is crossing the boardwalk next to one of the tents, a clipboard under his arm. At the sound of the engines stilling, he looks towards her, curious, and she starts, as though his look has sent a spark flaring through her.

As she and the other new girl – Gladys, who chatters away mindlessly like a jackdaw – stand on the grass before the huts, he comes over, smiling. "Are you our new VADs?"

"Yes, we are." Gladys answers for her, and Elizabeth just nods.

"You're very welcome to Hospital 25A," he says, his eyes fixed on Elizabeth. She looks down, fighting the advance of a blush across her cheekbones. It's not as though she hasn't seen handsome men before; they used to frequent the ballerinas' lounge after a show, talking to the girls with the more loose morals, wooing them with gifts and sweet words. But this feels so different; his smile, whilst edging on flirtatious, is deeper than anyone's she's ever seen, and there are things behind his dark eyes that she can't put her finger on, but they strike a chord somewhere inside her.

"Thank you very much," Gladys says, and then there's a nurse in a blue uniform coming towards them, her dark hair severely pinned back under a cap.

"Hello, I'm Nurse Trevelyan," she says. "If you'd like to follow me?"

Elizabeth picks up her trunk, heavy with the weight of her uniform and practise shoes and begins to follow Nurse Trevelyan. Gladys begins to talk again, and Elizabeth looks over her shoulder.

Their eyes meet, and he smiles again, less flirtatious this time, more real, before turning and going into one of the tents.

* * *

**A/N Important! **This is a little 4 + 1 kind of fic that I just wrote yesterday morning. It's kind of in my 'Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On' verse, but the timeline is bit different. I'm just going to warn you now. Also, The Curlymop and I have set up a Crimson Field forum called 'Of Poppies and Pairings,' for discussions, prompts, etc. (Also, Curly had the genius idea of having a topic for what people would like to happen to Sister Quayle, if you have any hate for her that you haven't spent yet!) So I'd love to see you all over there! :) N xxx


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

A year later, the work doesn't cease or diminish, but even more volunteers have arrived, and sometimes an afternoon off presents itself like a gift under the Christmas tree. Elizabeth has taken to going out into the woods with her pointe shoes, and practising over and over to keep the steps as burned into her memory as she possibly can. There's something so peaceful about practising, about the routine she always falls into – warming up holding onto the side of a tree, stretching her legs and arms, and then practising variations, adagios, allegros over and over again.

The dirty, leaf-strewn earth of the woods doesn't make a wonderful practise floor, but it's better than nothing.

On this particular afternoon, when the sun burns through the dark pine needles in streaks of burnished rose-gold, she is just rising up onto the tips of her toes, taking tiny little steps before pulling her leg into an arabesque when there is a click, and her supporting leg wobbles. She stumbles, catching herself on a nearby tree and muttering a very unladylike word under her breath.

Of all the times for this to happen, it had to be now.

Her left knee has always been a little bit weaker than the right knee, ever since she fell over during practise when she was only twelve, and sometimes it gives out like this, usually for no particular reason.

Well, practise is evidently over for today. She sits down and takes off her point shoes, stowing them in their little bag that could so easily be passed off as a bag in which to carry a book, and stands. By the time her next free afternoon rolls around, it'll be back to normal.

But it doesn't.

Three days later, she is still limping and her knee throbs with pain whenever she tries to touch it. She doesn't tell anyone, but she knows that Kitty and Rosalie have noticed. It has to go away, it will go away. There's nothing to worry about.

That afternoon, she is walking between the wards, still loathe to put weight on her left leg when someone comes up behind her. Him. Miles, as he's insisted that she calls him. There sight of him resonates hollowly in her gut – ever since her arrival, his smile still has the power to make butterflies spin around her head, and what-ifs to haunt her dreaming hours. At first, she tried to avoid him – because she knows that willpower is enough to overcome anything - but it was hopeless.

Now, she is just resigned to seeing him about the place and keeping a lid on her feelings, because if she lets go of the leash, she knows that she'll make a fool of herself.

"Miss Whitmore, could I have a word?" he asks, taking her arm and steering her into a new, empty ward that is waiting with baited breath for tonight's convoy.

Warmth burns in her skin from his touch, and she pulls her arm away. "Yes – but make it quick. I'm expected on the wards."

"Kitty has told me that you're limping, and that she's worried about you," he says, plainly, and Elizabeth holds onto the rail of the bed behind her as a reflex. Kitty knows how she feels about him, why did she have to do this?

"I was wondering if you'd let me take a look," he continues.

Her knee throbs then, as if reminding her that it's there. "Yes, alright," Elizabeth says, sitting down on the bed.

He smiles. "I'll leave the flap open to ensure your honour."

"Thank you," she replies dryly, pulling up her skirt to show him where her knee is swelling against its stocking. Any other woman would be embarrassed by showing so much leg to a man, but Elizabeth has spent most of her life living in a theatre and that somehow allows one to have less inhibitions.

"This looks nasty," he says, gently probing it with feather-light touches. "How did you do it?"

"I fell over." Her reply is quick – too quick – and he gives her a look for a second.

"If it's bandaged up, then it should stop you limping," he tells her. "Get Kitty to do it when she has a free moment."

"Thank you," she says, pulling the safety of her skirt back over her injured leg.

"My pleasure. Don't go falling over again," he says, and she nods, accepting his hand up. He looks at her, opens his mouth for a second, and then stops, turns away.

"I'd better get on," he says, and then he's out of the tent, and she's left staring into the empty air.

* * *

**A/N **Thank you to anon and Kate - Kate, you know where you search for a story? Click the down arrow, select forum, and then type in 'Of Poppies and Pairings.' It should come up, fingers crossed! I'm glad you're all enjoying this and here's the next chapter! :) N xx


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

It's months later, when her knee has returned to its normal shape and colour, and Matron gives her a free afternoon before yet another convoy arrives. When her shift ends, she dashes back to the tent, snatches up her bag and heads out to her clearing in the woods, pulling off her boots and sliding on the soft warm-up shoes. It's chilly out here now, the heat of summer is dying away, killed by the icy spear of winter, but she doesn't care. _Finally _she can dance again.

She's halfway through the Dance of the Cygnets from Swan Lake when there's the sound of someone clearing their throat. She stumbles, startled out of her reverie, and hands catch her before she can fall. Hands that send searing warmth jolting up her arms. She looks up into a pair of dark eyes, and knows she's been found out.

"You didn't hurt yourself falling over," he says. "Did you?"

She shrugs. "I did fall over, actually."

He shakes his head, and steps back, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I really should have guessed before. All the signs were there."

She blushes. "You've been watching me?"

"You're an interesting study, Elizabeth Whitmore. And I must say, you make a very graceful swan."

"Thank you." The blush darkens, and she's ready to scream from embarrassment. Why can't she act normal around him, why?

He leans against one of the trees. "Don't let me stop your practise."

"You're going to stay there?"

"Unless you want me to leave, heartbroken and dispirited, then yes."

She bites her lip. "Alright."

She begins to dance again, stretching her arms out like wings and at the end he's clapping so loudly that the birds take flight from the trees around them. "Bravo!"

She curtseys, like the prima ballerina would at the end of a show, but as she rises a sudden, nagging though begins to bore a hole in her head like a woodpecker into the trunk of a tree.

"Are you going to tell Matron, or Sister Quayle about this?" she asks.

"I'm offended you'd think I'd do such a thing," he says with such mock severity that she laughs.

"Thank you."

She catches a glimpse of tenderness in his eyes before she turns to unlace the ribbons of her ballet shoes.

"May I walk you to the mess tent?" he asks, suddenly.

"People will think that we're walking out," Elizabeth says before she can stop herself, and a charmingly roguish grin spreads across his face.

"I know," he tells her mischievously. "That's the point."

* * *

**A/N **So here's the next one. If you want to see 'Dance of the Cygnets' from Swan Lake, click on this link on my profile - I think this is the Royal Swedish Ballet doing it, but the dance is the same in pretty much all the productions of Swan Lake. On a complete side-note - as my end of exams treat yesterday, I went to see English National Ballet's Romeo and Juliet at the Royal Albert Hall, which was very exciting - with Erina Takahashi and Arionel Vargas. I cried when Juliet woke up to find that Romeo was dead - so, so sad! N xxx


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

One day in the spring of 1918, when a grey mist is cradling the hospital in its loving embrace, Elizabeth finds Miles sitting at the edge of the woods with his head in his hands. She lowers herself down beside him. "What's the matter?"

He starts at the sound of her voice, but doesn't look up. "When's this damned war going to end?"

It's the first time she's ever heard him express sentiments like this, and she pulls his hand free, winds her fingers through his unconsciously, offering comfort in the only way she knows how. "I don't know. It'll end when it ends, I suppose."

"God."

"What's brought this on?"

(She prides herself on being one of his closest friends, now, and being able to tell when he's hiding something from her.)

"You met Captain Thomas Gillan at the new year, didn't you?"

"Yes," she says, cautious. She does remember the tall, rather brusque Scotsman that Kitty had spent the entirety of the day glued to. "He's Kitty's beau, isn't he?"

"Yes, and one of my closest friends. He's missing."

"What?"

"Most of the staff from his Casualty Clearing Station went missing a few days ago. Kitty received his mother's letter yesterday."

"Miles…I'm sorry, I really am. That's awful news."

"The war has taken so much from everyone – it's taken my brother, and almost all the men I was friends with back in London before it, and now it's taken Tom…God, Elizabeth, I don't know what to do. What do I do?"

He looks up at her, hopelessness muffling the light that once shone from his dark eyes and in that moment, she's hit by a sudden urge to kiss the smile back onto his face. But she can't – now's not the time for such things.

"Keep smiling," she says. "Pray, and keep smiling. You can't help him – or any of the dead or missing – by moping around, being miserable. They wouldn't want that. You've managed so well up to now, and I know for one that your optimism has kept pretty much all of us going over the years, and if you keep going, the war has to be over soon."

He nods, and sighs. "You're right."

"I usually am, aren't I?"

That gets a small smile, and he stands, helping her up. "I'm due in theatre soon."

"I'd better get on with my rounds."

They smile at each other, and Elizabeth slowly lets go of the warmth of his hand. "See you around."

* * *

**A/N **Hi guys - just letting you know that the next chapter of 'Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On' will be up as soon as I've started chapter 8. Reviews make me want to write more, so click that little button at the bottom of the page! N xxx


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

After the war, it is inevitable that she goes back to dancing. The prospect of being on stage again thrills through her, and all through the winter of 1919, she practises and rehearses in the studios at Covent Garden.

It is spring and the days are getting lighter once more before the curtain rises on their new production of Sleeping Beauty. It's been months since she left the hospital, since she's seen any of her friends, and she hopes that at some point they'll come and see her dance.

The music flutters, delicate and airy, through the wings and then she's onto stage, graceful and elegant as the Lilac Fairy, banishing the worst of the wicked fairy's spell on the little princess.

After the performance – which finished with endless curtain calls to a rapturous audience – she's sitting in her little dressing room, pulling the pins out of her hair when the door creaks open. "Is that you, Elsa?" she calls, expecting her dresser has come to help her undo the hooks and eyes of her beautiful tutu, and to spirit it back to the costume department for a check over for tomorrow night.

"Who's Elsa?" A very familiar voice says, and Elizabeth cries out, startled, turning around on her chair.

"Miles!"

"The very same," he says, offering her a bouquet of flowers. "You were wonderful."

She accepts them, red roses, and lays them carefully on her dressing table, rising to her feet. "How are you here?"

"As in, here London, or here backstage at the Royal Opera House?"

"Backstage at the Royal Opera House?"

"I managed to get into the ballerinas' lounge, then got one of the corps to show me here. It's amazing what a little charm can do."

She laughs. "That sounds very like you."

"I know," he smiles. "But I mean it – you were absolutely incredible, and I recognised one of your dances from the woods."

"I'm glad you were paying attention."

"I always pay attention when it involves you," he says, quietly.

She steps closer to him, and closer and then before she can have any second thoughts, rises onto her toes and kisses him. His arms wind around her, and her tutu crumples complainingly, but she doesn't care becausefinally, _finally, _the war is over and they are together.

There's nothing else that matters anymore.

* * *

**A/N **That's the last of 'Ballet Shoes.' I have another Elizabeth-doing-ballet oneshot, but I'll probably save it for a rainy day! I look forward to hearing from you about what you think of this last chapter! N xx


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